


Two Stanleys are better than One

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Shanklin Pines [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Brotherly Love, But not enough to be a full crossover I don't think, Family, Ford is the dumbest smart person alive sometimes, Gen, Older Pines Twins, Portal Stan AU, Sea Grunkles, Sort of crossover with Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, Spoilers - Gravity Falls: Lost Legends, Spoilers - Journal 3, Stan's a little insecure sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: During their adventures on the high seas, Stan and Ford run into another truly bizarre situation when they receive a most unexpected guest.  Someone who they know quite well...Kind of my own twist on the 'Stan goes through the portal' AU.  You'll see what I mean when (hopefully) you read this.





	1. Ford gets punched

The  _ Stan O’War II _ was at anchor for the evening, somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, without a sign of land as far as the eye could see.  But they still had plenty of supplies onboard, so neither of its occupants was overly concerned.

Not much of supernatural interest had happened to the brothers Pines lately, so Ford was sure they were due something any day.  But for now, he enjoyed the peace of the sunset, and the smell of salt water in the air that reminded him of the dimensions where dolphins had become the supreme beings (one of his more pleasant memories of the multiverse).

Stanley was in their cabin doing something-or-other, and Ford was on deck making some repairs to the wheel after the incident with the predatory cowfish (don’t ask), when sure enough, something happened.

One of the worst somethings possible for him, and not one he ever thought he’d be forced to encounter again.

Namely, there was a loud thrumming noise, and a few seconds later a horribly familiar glow appeared above the boat, materializing as a white circle surrounded by a multicolored corona of light, shimmering in the air and crackling with unearthly power.

* * *

For a second Ford hoped it was just a very elaborate hallucination or flashback of some kind, as increasingly unlikely an explanation as that was when he actually started rising into the air and had to grab onto the helm with all his strength.

But even an unlikely explanation was preferable to the one that he was being sent back  _ there _ , please God no not that not after everything-

He wasn’t being pulled in, he realized through the haze of fear.

No, something was coming  _ through  _ into his world.  A shadowy figure appeared, leaping through the circle and landing with catlike grace on the deck just as the moment of gravitational anomaly ended.

This was only marginally a better option than Ford being sucked back in, and as he recovered he grabbed for the first weapon at hand, which happened to be a crescent wrench from the pile of scattered tools which had clattered back to the deck when he did.  He barely registered that the portal opening was gone, or that the whole process had occurred far more quickly and effectively than any of the times his had worked; he was too busy regaining his footing and rushing towards the figure wearing a shabby red jacket with the hood up and a mask and scarf ensemble covering his face-just as he straightened up from his crouched position, turned around and exclaimed, “Ford?!”

 

The adventurer froze in the act of pulling back the wrench to strike.

That voice…

The stranger pulled back the mask and scarf, revealing...Stanley.

* * *

 

Except not Stanley as he was now, Ford vaguely realized as he finished removing his headwear and let it drop to the deck; Stanley as he’d been thirty years ago, give or take a few years.  Without the mullet, though-this Stanley’s hair looked like it had been cut with lamb shears by a cross-eyed barber. He also had a set of long, jagged scars running down the left cheek, and looked like it had been a few months since he’d had a full meal or a good night’s sleep, or any sleep at all (not too different from Ford in the days pre-portal, really).  But it was still his twin’s face, and his eyes that were widening and filling up as he reached out, fingers fluttering over Ford’s shoulder like he wanted to touch him but was afraid to do so.

“Ford?  Is that really you?” this young Stanley asked.  Then his expression turned dismayed. “What happened?  You’re so...old.”

Ford slowly lowered the wrench, struggling to figure out what he wanted to say, what the right approach was.

Just in time for the cabin door to burst open, and Stanley-yes, the original version-to burst out with brass knuckles ablaze on his hands, roaring, “Get away from my brother!”

 

The young Stanley started, and whipped a gun from his belt in one fluid motion, turning it towards the man charging towards him.

Moving at the speed of sheer horror, Ford’s arm quickly rose and smacked it down so it was pointing at the deck while at the same moment he quickly interspersed himself between the two versions of his brother.

“Stanley, don’t!”

He wasn’t sure which of them he was yelling at, and it didn’t matter because he had to stop them before-

His head snapped back with a  _ crack _ when Stan’s fist collided with his jaw.


	2. Ford is not the only twin who can get paranoid

One second Stan had been peacefully cleaning and polishing his assortment of weapons and watching the recording of “The Duchess Approves” he’d smuggled onboard, and still wasn’t ready to tell Ford about.

The next, he, the weapons, the laptop and everything else that was loose enough to do so was levitating into the air, giving him a horrible feeling of déjà vu.

The second thought to cross Stan’s mind was to freak out about the fact that Ford was outside and going to float into the air and he might land in the ocean and drown or freeze to death once the gravitational anomaly stopped, or just float so high into the upper atmosphere that he would never come down.

The first thought is...somewhat unprintable.

As soon as gravity reset, he picked himself up and leaped frantically to the window, where he saw that 1) to his relief, Ford was still on the boat, but 2) there was someone else suddenly there, and he had probably been responsible for what just happened, and was therefore a threat to be dealt with in Stan’s book.

* * *

Fortunately, Stan’s punch hadn’t hit straight on, or the brass knuckles would have broken his brother’s jaw for sure.

As it was, he was going to have a pretty big bruise, and it meant that he crashed into the stranger, who Stan could now see looked like some kind of weird döppelganger of him when he’d been young, so they landed with a crunch in an ungainly heap on the deck.

A little voice in Stan’s head muttered that in a way this was payback for when Ford had punched him first thing out of the portal.  He ignored it in favor of starting to lunge forward again, before the alternate version of himself pushed Ford off and scooted away, yelling as he pulled himself up, “No, stay away from me!”

Stan advanced anyway, but then his brother was jumping between them again, rubbing his jaw with one hand and saying quickly, “He’s right, Stanley!  You two need to not come anywhere near each other!”

“Ford, what the heck-!”

“If two versions of the same person from separate dimensions touch, they’ll disintegrate not only each other, but the universe they’re in!”

 

Well.  That was certainly a good reason.  But wait a minute.

“What about when we went to the dimension with all the Mabels?  They were all fine.”

Ford waved a hand.  “It was a dimension that was specifically compatible for all of them to coexist in.  It won’t work that way out here.”

The younger Stan blinked in bewilderment.  “You-you’ve been to other dimensions? But how-?”  He peered over the side of the boat, at the sign, then back at them, still looking very confused.  “How do you even know about-” Then he glanced down at his side, at some weird science doohickey (it looked a little bit like a laser gun, an hourglass and a mini generator had somehow had a baby) attached to his belt.  It was now cracked open and dripping some kind of sparkly multicolored goo that looked a little like it was made of the night sky.

His expression turned to abject horror.

“No, no no no no no  _ no _ !”  Seconds later he was oblivious to both of them, falling to his knees and trying ineffectively to scoop up some of the stuff which was now soaking into the wood of the deck.

“No, I can’t-I have to-”  As best he could he lifted a handful of the goo, trickling it back into the hourglass part of the gun and trying to hold it shut with his other hand.

 

Stan glanced at Ford.

“How do we know he’s real, and not some kind of hallucination or mind-reading shapeshifter?”

Even if he acted and sounded real, Stan had learned the hard way that sometimes you just couldn’t trust your senses.

Ford’s eyes widened behind their glasses.  “That’s a really good point.”

“You don’t need to sound so surprised.”

Ford just elbowed him a little in the ribs.  “I need to grab my scanner. Keep an eye on him, and avoid physical contact just in case.”  He turned and rushed into the cabin.

Stan looked back at the other him.  He’d given up trying to grab whatever the stuff was, and was slumped dejectedly in place.  And his eyes were raised in the direction Ford had gone, with an expression that was very familiar to the older Stanley in its wistfulness.

If this was a mind-reading shapeshifter or something, he was really good at acting too.

* * *

A few crashes and sounds of things being sifted through later, Ford returned brandishing the scanner, and waved it over their guest.  Then he examined the screen with a thoughtful frown.

“It registers him as being human, for the most part.”

Stan looked at him with a frown.  “‘For the most part?’”

“There’s a few odd bits of DNA mixed here and there.  But other than that, it’s pretty much the same as when it scans you.”

The other Stanley finally pulled himself to his feet, tucking the broken gun back against his hip.  In response to Stan’s questioning glare, he shrugged. “I’ve had an interesting life recently.”

That certainly sounded like something Stan himself would say.  Still...

“How do you know it’s not tricking you somehow?  Like with an illusion or something?”

“The scanner’s programmed to see through those, and besides,” Ford reached up and knocked on the side of his skull, letting the metallic sound ring,  “this would block out a lot of those kind of attacks from my mind. Please, just trust me.”

Another confused gasp from in front of them turned their attention back to the young Stanley.

“...Ford, what happened to your head?” he asked, doing a knocking motion against his own skull.

Ford sighed.  “Okay, I think we need a moment to just sit down and get some answers.   _ All _ of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been longer and actually gotten to the juicy stuff, but it's really late and I'm tired, so you're gonna have to wait for explanations until the next chapter.  
> Sorry, nothing personal.
> 
> Also, the Mabel dimension is in the comic "Gravity Falls: Lost Legends," for those not in the know. You should go read it. Or just look up the version that's (probably illegally) posted on YouTube, if it hasn't been taken down already.


	3. A rechristening and an explanation

In the end, Ford got some tape and a marker and made a line separating two sides of the boat, with the words STANLEY LINE-DO NOT CROSS on it in bright red letters.  Both versions of his brother rolled their eyes at him, but they sat down on opposite sides in the deck chairs they’d set up while he was creating it.

“...So,” older Stanley asked once he was comfortable, “is it a problem if we touch at all, or would we disintegrate the universe if we were wearing gloves or something?”

Ford grimaced.  “I don’t know, and I would prefer not to test it.”

“Fine, fine, just asking.”

Young Stanley’s eyes widened.  “Ford doesn’t wanna try something potentially dangerous but scientific?  Is he sick?”

“Very funny,” Ford said with a glare, as the older one snickered.

 

He decided to try to get the conversation back on topic.

“So, Stanley-”

“Yes?” both of them asked at once, and then grinned at each other.  Ford could tell they’d been waiting for a chance to do that.

_Typical.  One second my brother is attacking someone with brass knuckles, the next he’s making dumb jokes with him._

“How about, to avoid further confusion, we call one of you Stan, and the other...Lee?”

“No way, Lee’s the most boring name ever!” the older Stanley objected.  “We can give him a better name than that!”

“Hey, how come I’m the one who has to change his name?” protested the young version.

“‘Cause I was here first.”  He thought for a second, before his eyes brightened.  “How about Shanklin?”

 

Ford gave him a disgusted look.

“You think it’s better to call him the same name you gave our _possum_?!”

But the younger Stanley, apparently resigned to undergoing a name change, was nodding.

“I like it...I like it.”

Again, Ford was hit by his brother’s wide, unrepentant grin from both sides.  He decided it wasn’t worth the fight.

 

“So...Shanklin.  Why don’t you tell us how and why you are here?” 

The newly christened Shanklin’s smile faded, and he suddenly wasn’t quite capable of looking at either of them.  He chose instead to stare down at his hands, which seemed to have developed a number of scars and patches of discoloured skin.

“...Well, when we were in high school, there was this science fair that Ford-my Ford-won first prize for, and-”

“Yeah, we know about that,” Stan interrupted.

He blinked, and his eyes darted up towards him.  “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“So...you got kicked out, after-?”

Stan grimaced.  “Yeah.”

Shanklin looked even more bewildered, but finally went on, “Well, after about ten years Ford sent me a postcard, asking me to come to this place called Gravity Falls-”

“Where he built a portal?”

He stared at them again.

Ford just said, “We know this part too.”

Shanklin spluttered.  “How could-but you guys are on the boat!  You’re living out our dream! How-?!”

Ford held up his hands placatingly, finally understanding his confusion.  “We’ll explain after you’ve had your turn. It’s kind of a long story.”

* * *

Shanklin gave a small nod after a minute, and went on.

“I...after we got in that fight and I pushed you-him-into the portal...I had to make a living somehow while I figured out how to get it working again.  So I just...kinda redesigned things around the house, turned it into a tourist attraction.” He relaxed a little bit when Ford didn’t seem ready to freak out.  “And then one day, while I was putting up signs to bring in more suckers, I tried to put a nail in a tree that was made of metal.”

He unzipped his jacket, revealing that underneath it he was wearing a dark blue vest with a lot of pockets in the front.  From one of those pockets he produced a very familiar journal decorated with a golden six-fingered hand, and the number 3.

“After I found this, it was easy to track down the second one.”  He pulled the other two out of other pockets, placing all of them grouped together on his lap.  “It was still a lotta work, but I got that dumb portal working again after that. And I read what you wrote about the triangle freak and how he couldn’t be let into our world, so once it opened...I went in.”

 

“You what?!” Ford squawked.  “What were you thinking?! If you knew how dangerous it was-”

“I was thinking that there was nothing to keep me from leaving!” Shanklin retorted, practically bristling like a cat.  “There was nobody who cared about me anymore, and I screwed up everything I did in my dimension, so it was better off without me anyway!”

Both the older twins flinched a tiny bit, and Ford felt a small, familiar pang in his chest.

Shanklin let out a long exhale.  “So, I’ve been dimension hopping ever since, tryin’ to find Ford.  Means there’s been a few times when I nearly got arrested for him-” his lips quirked into a bit of a fond smile- “but I’ve been catching up.  And I really thought I found the right place this time, but I guess not.”

“How long have you been looking for the other me?” Ford asked.  Maybe if he knew that, he could pinpoint where in his travels the other Ford was...

Shanklin shrugged.  “I dunno, I lost track of time after a while.”  He tapped his thumb against the top journal, and looked back at them.  “Well, that’s my story. What about you?”

Stan leaned forward in his chair.  “It took me a lot longer than you to get all three journals, and in the end I needed some help…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since you guys probably already know this story from watching the series (if you haven't, why the heck are you reading this?), I'm just going to move on. As much as I'm sure you'd love having me summarize the whole thing.  
> For more on Shanklin the possum, again, read "Lost Legends."


	4. A new destination

The story was, indeed, long.  Ford took over after a while, so Stan headed to the kitchen (Ford occasionally reminded him that the correct term when on a boat was ‘galley,’ but to Stan, a kitchen by any other name was still a kitchen) and warmed up some leftover clam chowder for all of them.  He came back with three steaming mugs, handing one to Ford and then approaching the Stanley Line.

“Stanley!” Ford started to warn-

-just as Stan knelt and carefully set the mug down just on the other side of the line, shooting his twin a meaningful glance over his shoulder.  “I’m not an idiot, Sixer.”

Ford raised his hands placatingly.

“Sorry.  I’m just trying to be careful.”

“Have a little faith in me, wouldya?”  He pulled himself up on somewhat creaky knees and sat down in his chair.

Ford patted his arm briefly, and then turned back to Shanklin.

The younger version of his brother was watching them, expression once again wistful.  But when he saw their attention had returned to him, he quickly picked up the mug and began gulping down the contents.

Neither of the old Pines twins bothered to scold him on table manners, knowing all too well what it was like to go a long time without food and then finally have it set before you.  They just went on with telling their story (even the uncomfortable bits, like Ford wanting to kick Stan out of the Mystery Shack, or Stan being too angry to just take Ford’s hand and complete the zodiac).

 

By the time they finished, the moon was high, and Shanklin was staring at them in open amazement.

“You managed to scam Bill?” he asked after a long moment.

“Indeed.  Stanley saved the day using his talent for lying like a rug.”  Ford gave Stan a fond smile in hopes that it would take any sting out of the words.

Stan visibly preened.

“You guys are awesome,” Shanklin said.

 

“We’re the kings of New Jersey; whaddya expect?” Stan asked, puffing out his chest a little.

Ford worried that if he rolled his eyes any more, they’d be permanently stuck pointing upwards.  He decided to move on to other matters. “Shanklin, you still haven’t explained how you traveled here.  That definitely wasn’t a wormhole; it looked almost like...you have a portal of your own.”

Shanklin set down his mug, unclipped the broken device from his belt and held it up.  “Kinda. I got this.” His eyes traveled back to the broken hourglass part, and he gave it a concerned frown.  “It opens mini portals into other dimensions for a few moments. And looks like I’m gonna need a glass blower and a lot of tape to fix it.  To start with, anyway.”

 

Of course, by now Ford’s eyes were bright with curiosity, and he leaned forward in his chair.  “Where on earth...did you  _ make _ that?”  Now that he was giving it his concentrated attention, he recognized some of the parts from several different areas of the multiverse, many of which he would never have tried putting together but which had been put together anyway.  It had a definite Stan Pines touch to it, down to the name “Vera” written along the handle.

“I had some help a few times.  And...I may have added a bit to your rap sheet of stolen parts-somehow nobody in the multiverse seems to have figured out there’s two of us yet.”

Both older Pines twins snorted.

“May I see it?” Ford asked.

Shanklin passed it over.  “Don’t spill the cosmic sand, please,” he warned.  “I need what’s left if I want to have any fuel at all.”

“Cos-how did you get cosmic sand?!”

Shanklin rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  “...Let’s just say Time Baby is a little upset with you too.”

Stan’s snort was filled with pride this time.

 

Ford carefully examined the portal gun, running his fingers over welded-together scraps of metal and pieces of wiring, and making sure not to disturb the hourglass part.

“This is...incredible,” was his final verdict.  “I mean, you’ve taken a few shortcuts which could cause trouble in the future, here and here-” he pointed to a few areas- “but still.  Very impressive.”

“Guess our teachers and Crampelter were wrong about me after all,” Shanklin murmured, resting his chin in one hand and preening just as much as Stanley.

“You were never stupid,” Ford said, looking between the Stanleys, “neither of you.  You just...never took the opportunity to apply yourselves.”

“Thank you, Mom,” they groused almost in unison.  He ignored them.

“I have some materials we can use to fix it,” Ford said, deciding he could put aside his combustible lemons experiment for a while.  “Are you sure it has enough fuel?”

Shanklin shrugged a little.  “Dunno where we can get more if it’s not.  Unless you know a place we can get liquid dragon fire in a pinch; I can use that and a few other ingredients to synthesize more.”

Stan stared at his young counterpart.   _ Hot Belgian waffles, it’s like he’s picked up some of Ford’s brains from all that traveling the multiverse. _

Ford pursed his lips.  “If we were back in Gravity Falls, I’d try going to the Crawlspace...wait!”  He snapped his fingers. “The Floating Market! Of course!”

 

Shanklin glanced at Stan with a question in his eyes.

“Don’t look at me, I’m in the dark as much as you are.”

“It’s a bazaar that’s set up in London Below-we’re just a week’s journey away from there, and if anyone’s going to have dragon fire, it’s them!”  Ford pulled out his digital map, began charting a course.

“...Is that a weirdness community?” Stan asked.

“Yes!  I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard about it; it’s probably our best bet for finding what we need.”

Already, Ford’s eyes were glazing over as he began making plans and putting together calculations.

“...We should probably finish fixing the wheel first,” Stan felt obligated to point out.

“Helm.”

“Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone can recognize all the references I've put in here, I will be extremely impressed.  
> Hint: not all of them are GF-related.


	5. Story Swapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to Birdgirl_AMP, for recognizing the Portal reference, and Cartoon_Idiot_59 for getting everything else, including some things I hadn't even thought of. I'm impressed.

Eventually it was arranged for Shanklin to sleep out on the deck, using one of their spare sleeping bags and with a collapsible tent at hand in case it started raining.  Ford felt a little bad about making him sleep outside, but their options were kind of limited at the moment.

“Please remember to make sure you know where the other is at all times,” he admonished them again before he and Stanley went into the cabin.  “Don’t go near any doors unless you know the other you isn’t nearby, and stay out of any confined spaces-”

“We  _ get it _ , Ford!”  Geez, they were both getting a lot better about speaking in unison.

 

Even with their backhanded reassurance, Ford was still worrying as he got ready for bed.  What if, early in the morning, Shanklin got up to use the bathroom, and Stanley was already in there, and in their joint grogginess they forgot and ran into each other when Stanley opened the door?  Or what if one of them slipped on something and started to fall, and the other forgot and tried to help him up?

Holy Moses, this would all be a lot less nerve-wracking if they were in a less confined space, if they were all on dry land somewhere so there was less chance of both his brother (not very grammatically correct, but still technically accurate) touching-

“Ford.  Relax,” Stan ordered, squeezing his shoulder from behind.  “We got this. Believe it or not, we’re not anymore interested in destroying the world than you are.”

Had this been the Ford of last summer, or had he been in an even more tense mood, he would have made some sort of snide comment on how close Stan had come to doing just that by ignoring his warnings and turning on the portal again.  Since he wasn’t, he just snorted and leaned into his twin’s touch for a second before climbing up to his bunk.

* * *

In the morning, Ford opened his eyes blearily, and managed to grope around and find his glasses where he’d hung them on the side of the bed.  As he slipped them on, memories returned to his subconscious, and he thought in a small panic,  _ Where’s Stanley? _

A snore from below answered that question, helping him to take a few calming breaths and sit up.

Only to almost have another heart attack when he saw Shanklin sitting at his desk, looking at something.

“ _ What are you doing?! _ ” he managed to somehow screech and whisper at the same time.  “I told you-”

“Stanley is right there, fast asleep, I’m keeping an eye on him, and I’m close to the door just in case,” Shanklin retorted calmly.  “I just-wanted to see something.”

 

Unappeased, and in fact more than a little peeved about his wise counsel being blatantly ignored (not for the first time), Ford climbed down, somehow avoiding slipping on the rungs of the ladder while wearing socks.  He marched towards the desk, ready to give this version of his brother a very quiet chewing-out, especially if he’d come in so he could snoop through something stupid like Stan’s magazines or-

Or the scrapbook Mabel had given them.

 

Shanklin looked back down at the page he was currently giving his attention to: a picture of Stan and the twins taken by Shandra Jimenez for her paper, all clustered together and looking as goofy as possible.

Ford forgot some of his annoyance.

“They sound like great kids,” Shanklin murmured, brushing his thumb over a corner of the picture.

“They really are.”  A thought suddenly occurred to the old twin.  “Which means you might have a reason to go back after all.  If things turn out the same way for your Shermie, one day you’ll have a niece and nephew who will want to get to know their Grunkle Stan.”

Shanklin’s eyes became very, very soft at the idea...but then he looked up, and his jaw clenched in the beginnings of a stubborn glare.

“I’m not goin’ back without my brother.”

Ford gave a small nod; he shouldn’t have expected anything less.

The beginnings of a yawn from the other side of the room broke the silence, and Shanklin said hurriedly, “I call first shower!”

He bolted from the cabin, followed by Stan’s grumble of annoyance.

* * *

 

Shanklin ended up taking some of Stan’s spare clothes while the others were put in the wash (and Ford felt half tempted to burn the miserable things and have done with it; he’d almost forgotten how filthy your clothes could get in the multiverse), and after breakfast he and Ford sat on one side of the Stanley line, working on fixing the gun, while Stanley finished fixing the helm.

To speed the process along, Ford cannibalized some of his spare projects, since he could always work on them later; he also began throwing together some blueprints that could be used to improve the gun’s efficiency and fix some of its performance issues.

 

“How did you even steal cosmic sand from Time Baby anyway?” Ford asked as he picked out some fresh wires and sorted out the ones that would connect best.

Shanklin shrugged.  “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, well now you  _ have _ to tell us.”

The story was, indeed, very complicated, and involved Shanklin running into some people from the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadron and scamming them by pretending he was the grandson of the man who invented time travel, who needed cosmic sand to go back and stop some people from preventing his grandparents from meeting.

“I needed it more than they did,” he said innocently.  “But it means Time Baby put another price on your head; sorry.”

Ford just laughed a little.  “Oh, trust me, after everything I got up to in the multiverse, Time Baby would have been the least of my problems.”

He squinted at the plans he’d already sketched out.  “Hand me the Philips, would you?”

 

Shanklin passed the screwdriver over.  “I think I figured out why I wound up here, by the way.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yeah.  Last place I was in was the one with all the weird time fluxes.”

“The Do-Over Dimension?”  Ford shuddered. “I’ve been there, it was horrible.”

“Yeah, I know, I talked to a few people who remembered you.  I was waiting for this big flux the people predicted that was supposed to take everything back six months, when they said you’d actually been there. I thought maybe I could catch up to you or at least follow when you left.  They said it might not work that way, but it was worth trying. But I think there was a reaction with the cosmic sand right when the time flux hit, and it turned on by itself and not only sent me here, but it sent me forward in time.”

Ford’s eyes had gotten really bright with excitement now.  “You were there six months after I’d left? That means that the other me should be in the Finger Dimension!  And by now it’s probably after I got ousted by  _ Ronald _ .”

 

The Stanleys both looked at him in confusion, most likely due to the open venom that entered his voice.

Ford sighed.  “I was briefly made the king of the Finger Dimension, until Ronald, a man with  _ seven _ fingers, came along and replaced me.  And among other things, he tried to have me executed so I couldn’t ever take the throne back from him.”

“Wait, you were a  _ king _ ?!” Stanley called over, voice filled with disbelief.  “After all those lectures you gave me about the problems associated with monarchy, and what a ‘corrupting influence’ you thought it was?”

“They all got so excited when I showed up, and I didn’t feel like I could say no when they offered me the Crown of Phalanges!” Ford argued.  And, he privately admitted to himself in embarrassment, he had once again been susceptible to easy flattery from others. “Besides, I was working on establishing a democracy for them before  _ Ronald _ spoiled everything.”  He tried not to sound too peeved; it was years ago, he should be over it.  And didn’t  _ that _ thought feel like a bit of an irony after everything he’d learned regarding holding onto past grudges.

 

“By the way,” he said with a sigh, turning back to Shanklin, “I think you’re right about the time flux thing.  We’ll have to account for that too in our repairs, and get a few extra things to send you back to the right time.”

“Yeah, we need to make a lot of adjustments…”  Shanklin pulled the third journal out of a pocket of his new coat, flipping to a page covered in equations scrawled in his handwriting.

“Sorry,” he said, looking up sheepishly, “there’s a lotta blank pages, so I just started doing my own stuff in them.  Not all of us can be super geniuses who can do math in their heads.”

Ford shrugged.  “I don’t mind, those aren’t my journals.  The other me will probably have a conniption, of course, but he’s not here right now.”  He held out his hand. “May I?”

Shanklin handed it over, and Ford checked the work.

“You need to move the decimal point here,” he indicated one spot, “and...you forgot to carry the one here...but on the whole, these are very well done.”

Shanklin grinned; at that moment, he bore a surprising resemblance to Dipper when Ford had first come back.  That same eagerness for his approval, and noticeable joy every time he received it.

 

Neither of them noticed Stan, on the other side of the line, giving them a slightly troubled frown before going back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trouble is brewing in paradise, it seems...  
> Cue suspenseful music.


	6. Trouble Brewing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a filler chapter; sorry. Sort of.

For the next few days, once the helm was back in working order, the _Stan O’War II_ sailed towards England, and its occupants fixed the portal gun (for lack of a better term) and talked.

It turned out that Shanklin had visited many of the same dimensions Ford had, usually long after he was already gone, but he had also been to some places Ford had never even dreamed of.

Like a dimension dominated by cats, where Shanklin had picked up the ability to purr when he was feeling especially content.

Or the dimension whose culture revolved around quite literally building a better mousetrap.  Apparently most wars there were based on the different philosophies of each country, such as whether ‘better mousetrap’ meant that it killed the mice more quickly and efficiently, or that it caught them without hurting them so they could eventually be released into the wild/made into more productive members of society, or if the trap just looked better or was more complicated than others.

Or the musical dimension, where people randomly burst into song at the drop of a hat, complete with background music (Shanklin had tried unsuccessfully to find out where it came from) and completely unrehearsed dance routines.  It was probably a lovely place to live if you weren’t aware that you were living in a musical (if you were, it became _very_ annoying _very_ quickly).

 

There was also a jungle dimension where Shanklin had spent several days collapsed in a cave, suffering from dengue fever-like symptoms, after he was attacked and bitten numerous times by a swarm of giant bugs.

“Definitely not one of my better memories,” Shanklin said with a shudder.  “But I got away with only a couple side effects.”

Ford gave him a perturbed look.  “What kind of side effects?”

Shanklin hesitated.  “Their venom turned my spit blue.”

“...No, really.”

Shanklin spat onto the deck; it was, indeed, a very dark shade of blue.

“...Remarkable.  Now clean that up, please.”

Shanklin grinned and used a tissue to wipe it away, leaving a small smear that required a little more elbow grease and some water.  “It makes great ink too.”

Slowly, horrified, Ford looked down at Journal 3 (which lay open next to the gun and the blueprints), at the scrawled equations and notes written in crabbed blue handwriting.  “You didn’t.”

“Oh come on, like you wouldn’t do it if that happened to you.”

It would have been easier to argue with him if he hadn’t been right.

* * *

 

As wrapped up in his (in a sense) younger twin’s adventures as he was, Ford also noticed that something was up with the man who was actually his twin.

Stanley had started acting oddly...moody.  He was trying to hide it and act normal, but he had become more subdued (which, since this is Stanley we’re talking about, was truly worrying), less likely to jump into the conversation, and he spent less time talking to Ford or Shanklin altogether.

Ford began to feel a little persistent twist of guilt in his gut; he suspected Stan was having a hard time feeling included when they were talking about adventures he had never been involved in and didn’t have a hope of connecting to.

He was still trying to think of a way to help his brother when, about a day away from port, he did something which was small potatoes compared to, let’s say, creating a portal that could be used to destroy the world, but which under the circumstances was the biggest everlovin’ lulu of all time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next time to find out what Ford did this time.  
> Bwa-ha-ha-ha, I love keeping my readers in suspense!
> 
> P.S. I've seen a few fics with 'Feral Ford,' where he tends to purr for some strange reason. Just wanted to turn that on its head.


	7. The last straw

They had almost finished repairing the gun with what few materials they had available; all they needed was to fix the hourglass and a few other odds and ends before it could be safely refueled.

Ford and Shanklin were sitting at the ~~kitchen~~ galley table, doing some repairs to the circuitry (hopefully their repairs would make this whole gun a lot more durable; the amount of damage it had sustained just from being knocked to the ground was ridiculous in Ford’s opinion); Stanley was washing the dishes from their dinner at the sink, occasionally putting in the curious or sarcastic comment on his companions’ conversation.

 

Ford addressed him, as he passed Shanklin a new wire and some electric tape: “We shouldn’t be too long, Stanley.  I can use my supernatural-detection scanners to locate an entrance to London Below, and from there we should find the Floating Market with little trouble, so you won’t have to wait-”

Stan froze, halfway through scrubbing a plate.  “Sorry, what? I _know_ you’re not planning on just leaving me on the boat while you two go off on your science scavenger hunt.”

Ford was a little taken aback by the venom in his twin’s voice.  He turned so he could see him head-on, and was alarmed by the obvious tension in Stan’s shoulders and back.  So he said, keeping his tone calm to avoid turning this into a fight, “It’s just a safety precaution. We’re going to a place that is probably very crowded and difficult to get through, and I don’t want to risk having you bump into each other.”

He’d thought this would go some way towards placating his brother, so it was more than a little alarming when Stan gave the opposite response.  Dropping the plate into the dishwater, he whirled around with his damp hands clenching. “We’ve been handling it just fine here! I think we can manage being on shore, with plenty of space between us!  Isn’t that what you’ve been freaking out over all week?!”

Ford blinked.  “Stanley, be reasonable.  I told you, the Floating Market is crowded with people.  I admit it’s less precarious than you two being here together, but if we all go there’s the new problem of potentially getting separated if you’re staying far enough apart to avoid-”

“How about I just stay here on the boat, while you two go to the market?” Shanklin interrupted.

 

And with good timing, too; Stanley looked like he was on the verge of blowing a fuse.

Both the older Pines twins gave him surprised stares.

Shanklin spread his hands.  “What? You already know everything we need,” he indicated Ford, “and you’re both more familiar with this dimension than me.”

“But-there’s no need-” Ford began

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.  Honestly, I don’t like being in crowds all that much anymore.  Gets me all twitchy thinkin’ there’s less room to run if someone attacks me.”

Something about the explanation didn’t sound quite right to Ford, but Shanklin’s brown eyes stared back at him guilelessly, until he shrugged.

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure, Sixer.”  Shanklin picked up his tools again.  He seemed to be hiding a small amount of relief, but Ford thought he must be imagining it.

 

After a moment, Ford went back to helping Shanklin, and Stan went back to washing the dishes, his metaphorical feathers getting unruffled.

This time, however, they worked in relative silence, until Ford straightened up and told Shanklin, “Okay, I think that’s the last of it.  Let’s test it.”

Shanklin flipped a switch on the gun, which crackled, sparked a couple of times, and then-finally-the right circuits on the generator part began to glow, and a gentle hum filled the air.  His face split into a warm, delighted grin, and he hefted the gun into the air triumphantly.

“YES!” Ford exclaimed, being the exuberant twin for once.  “High six!”

He held up his hand, and after a second of surprise, Shanklin slapped his palm against his with an equally delighted grin.

_SMASH!_

 

Shanklin had to fumble to stop himself from dropping the gun onto the table, and both he and Ford jerked around to stare at Stan, and the sink and counter now covered in pieces of shattered ceramic.  The broken part of a handle identified them as formerly the components of a large coffee mug.

“Stanley!  What-”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Stan said through clenched teeth, and then he stomped out of the kitchen, slamming the door after him.

 

“...Oh boy.”

Shanklin stood up, setting the gun down carefully, a surprising expression on his face: guilt.

“What?” Ford demanded.  “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

Shanklin went to the fridge and dug out two sodas.  “Sometimes, Ford, you are the dumbest smart guy in the multiverse.”  And he headed out of the cabin.

Ford sat back down, staring at his hand, with the slow feeling creeping up on him that he had just done something terribly, terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warned you.


	8. A little self-help

Stan _needed_ to get a grip.

He knew that he did, even as he strode out onto the deck and snatched up a tackle box, yanking out a fishing lure in the hopes that keeping his hands occupied would calm himself down.

_Everything’s fine, calm down, you’re overreacting you knucklehead._

_Shanklin’s tryin’ to find his own brother, it’s not like-not like Ford’s gonna_ replace _you with him, that’s ridiculous, he’s too old to be this kid’s brother._

But a small, nasty insidious voice, not unlike that of Bill Cipher, whispered in his head, _It wouldn’t be the first time he threw you away for something better…_

 _He might decide he wants to keep the younger model, and send the old decrepit screw-up relic back to Gravity Falls.  After all, he’s younger, stronger, a_ lot _smarter and luckier, with a more supportive attitude towards all his science nerd junk, better hair-well, maybe not the last one.  Even if anything’s better than a mullet._

_They’ve had the same kinda adventures too, and can talk about things you ain’t got a clue about.  He’d be a way better partner for Sixer, and he knows it._

_Besides, you know if it were you, and you had a chance to be around a version of your brother who loved and cared about you again, you wouldn’t care how old he was.  You wouldn’t care if he’d been turned into a giant purple zebra, he’d still be Ford, and that’d be all that mattered._

**_He gave him a freakin’ high six!_ **

 

It wasn’t like Stan and Ford hadn’t high-sixed since reconciling their differences.  It was one of the first things Stan had been able to remember about his brother, in fact; Ford had happily given him one after recovering from the emotional overload his remembering had caused, and since then there had been several happy occasions for it.  But it was supposed to be _their_ special thing, no one else’s; seeing him give it away so freely to _someone else_ , even if it was another version of him-

A red mist swam in front of his eyes again, and it took Stan a moment to realize that the reason why his hand was starting to hurt was because he was crushing the fishing lure into it.  With a curse of frustration he opened his fist and began digging it out.

He was so absorbed in his task that at first he didn’t notice he was being observed.  Then he finished pulling the lure loose, and noticed when he looked up that standing on the other side of the Stanley Line was literally the last person he wanted to see right now.

* * *

 Stan gave him a withering scowl, wishing that punching him in the face wouldn’t destroy the world, and settled for turning away and putting pressure on his bloody palm to staunch it a little.

“...I’m not gonna take Ford from you,” Shanklin said aloud.

Stan didn’t answer; he’d never thought he would hate the sound of his own voice so much.

Shanklin continued stubbornly.  “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been...monopolizing him a little.”  Then he amended, “A lot.”

“You’re even startin’ to talk like him,” Stan said icily.

“Hey, no need to get nasty.”  When he saw that Stan wasn’t going to laugh, Shanklin went on, “I’ve just...missed having this.  Having my brother around. Us just being able to talk and hang out, like old times. And it helped me forget how it feels to get left outta the loop.”

 

Shanklin leaned against the railing, chewing his lip.  “But I promise, as soon as this gun’s finished, I’m outta here to go find my own Ford.  ‘Cause this Ford’s great, but he’s not _my_ brother.  Heck, people see us together, they’re gonna think he’s my grandpa.”

Stan’s anger was temporarily replaced with annoyance.  “Hey, watch your mouth, we’re not that old!”

“Okay, they’ll think he’s my dad, which is even worse.”

...Stan couldn’t argue with that.

“I know you know that I’m not gonna take your place, but it’ll help you to hear me say it out loud.  Kay? This is where you belong. Not me. And even if you don’t think he’s acting like it right now, that’s what Ford feels too.”  And Shanklin pulled a Pitt cola can out of his pocket, setting it just on the other side of the line at Stan’s elbow. “Besides, you saved the entire world, Stanley.  You have _nothing_ to be jealous about.”

After a long second, Stan took it, turning it away from him before popping the tab, just in case-this _was_ another version of him, after all.

“I didn’t do it for the world.  I did it for my family.”

Shanklin shrugged.  “What’s the difference?”

At that, Stan was finally able to give him a brief, brittle smile.

 

Not everything was fixed; there were still parts of Stan’s psyche that were bristling over Ford’s small betrayals, among other dark thoughts.  But for now, he decided to take a deep breath, and a drink. And then finish getting his hand cleaned up.

* * *

From inside the cabin, behind the door, Ford slowly put his forehead in his hand.

 _Stanford Pines, you_ need _to learn how to use your head for something other than to hold up your ears._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yes, Ford, yes you do.
> 
> And just to clarify, no, I'm not bringing Bill back. Sorry to any of his fans who were hoping for that. It's just that's the sort of mean thing he would say.


	9. Shore Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> London Below, the Floating Market, and Neverwhere in general belong to Neil Gaiman. Please don't sue me, Mr. Gaiman; I'm really poor, and therefore not worth your time.

Despite the little heart-to-heart he’d had with himself, after cleaning and bandaging his hand Stan opted to stay out on the deck that night, eventually falling asleep in his chair after spending some time brooding.  When he woke up, it was to the feel of early-morning sunlight on his face; he found that someone (gosh, I wonder who) had laid a blanket across his lap at some point, and left a fresh roll of bandages on his armrest. After cracking his neck and stretching his achy limbs, Stan checked his hand to see if the bandage needed changing.  It still looked fine to him, and the bleeding had stopped ages ago, so he just got up, leaving the blanket on the chair, and wandered towards the kitchen. He paused just outside the doorway, and peered inside.

 

Both his companions were sitting at the end of the table farthest from the door, the laptop sitting in front of them while they ate.  All was safe.

“Here I come, ready or not.”  Stan came inside and pointedly seated himself at the opposite end of the table.

Shanklin smiled at him hesitantly, and pushed over a frying pan full of bacon and hash browns.

_ Wow, real food today.  That means Ford’s trying to apologize. _

It was a start, and it wasn’t like he was gonna turn down some of his favorite food even if he was still kind of an emotional mess inside, so Stan grabbed a plate and generously helped himself.

Ford turned the computer so he could see that they were looking at a map of London.  “I remember where I heard that a few possible entrances to London Below are, so we were just trying to decide where the best option is; I think we should go with one of these spots along the wharf.”

Stan gave a small shrug.  “That’s fine.”

Ford gave a satisfied nod, and went on, “Once we’ve actually gotten inside, we can just ask any of the people who live there where and when the Floating Market is; they have this sort of code of honor where they have to tell anyone who asks.  So at least we don’t have to worry about that. And there’s a rule of complete nonviolence in the marketplace, so maybe for once we can be in and out of a place without anyone trying to kill us.”

“...You know you’re jinxing us by saying that, right?” Stan asked after swallowing his latest mouthful.

“Oh hush.”  Ford flicked a chunk of potato at him.  “We’re also going to need to wear these.”  And he set down two heavy-looking wristwatches on the tabletop.  At least, they kind of looked like wristwatches, but if you looked closely you’d see that instead of numbers they had a series of alchemical symbols, there were no hands, and they emitted a soft humming noise that Stan could just barely pick up with his old ears.

 

Stan looked down at them in bemusement.  “Is that like a fashion statement or somethin’?”

“No.  You remember what I learned about Gravity Falls’s law of weirdness magnetism?”

“It ain’t exactly easy to forget that.”  Not when Bill Cipher had spent a day or something torturing Ford for a way to dismantle it, and Stan had been too busy nursing the chip on his shoulder to be willing to save him.  He hadn’t known his brother was being tortured, but that wasn’t the point.

Ford went on, “Well, London Below has something similar: people who become part of its society are basically invisible to the outside world.  They can come and go in London Above, but nobody will really see or hear them unless they make an effort to communicate, and even then their attention will be easily diverted away.”

“Sounds kinda like being homeless,” Stan grunted.

Ford might have flinched a little, but it might also have been his imagination.  “Well, many of them are homeless people. It’s like they fall through the cracks in our reality, and when they do they get erased from this world, even from the memories of their friends or family.  I modified these, however, with a small deflection field that should still allow us to interact safely with London Below without becoming part of it.”

Stan snatched up a watch and shoved it onto his wrist in a manner of seconds; he almost wanted to put the other one on too, just to be safe.

* * *

 

By evening, they were docking in the Port of London.

Apparently the barter system of the Floating Market was very atypical in terms of currency, so they just grabbed an assortment of odds and ends and stuffed them in their backpacks.  Despite Ford’s words about the nonviolence pact the market held, both twins also packed a healthy amount of weaponry on themselves; they were taking no chances.

Ford left his cellphone (the niblings had encouraged them to each get one before going on their trip, and then spent two whole days patiently teaching them how to use them) for Shanklin if there was an emergency.

“The Floating Market occurs at least a few times a week,” Ford told Shanklin as they disembarked, “so hopefully if there’s not one tonight it won’t be too long before the next one.”

“Don’t take the boat for any joyrides,” Stan warned.

Shanklin gave him a hurt look.  “I wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

“Liar.”

The hurt look became a sheepish grin.  “I woulda brought it back before you were done.”  He was met with two equally stern glares. “Okay, okay, I won’t steal the boat.  Geez, you guys both look like Dad right now.”

“Ugh, you don’t haveta get nasty,” Stan echoed.  And for the first time in a couple of days, he and Shanklin were able to give each other that ‘we are so in sync and I love it’ smile.  Then Ford opened the map they’d printed up, and they set off to find London Below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I haven't been to London in years, so I apologize for inconsistencies of a geographical, cartographical, topographical or other -graphical nature.


	10. The Floating Market

The entrance to London Below, found using a combination of the map, Ford’s technology and a large amount of guesswork, turned out to be on the other side of a large grating in a wall, leading to a long, dark tunnel.  Yeah, definitely not ominous at all.

“Lovely,” Stan muttered sarcastically, wrinkling his nose at the smell.  He pulled out a small flashlight, turned it on.

“I imagine it’s often used by the Sewer Folk,” Ford said apologetically, stepping over a pile of stuff, it was best not to speculate what.  “They have a lot of contact with this part of London.”

“I didn’t think sewers were this big except in the movies.”  Stan shone the flashlight around, taking in the walls dripping with moisture and green slime.

“Me neither.”

 

They walked quietly for the most part, save for the clomping (and occasional splashing) of their footsteps, and then some rustling when Ford pulled a new map out of his pocket.  He directed them left and right and then up a random flight of stony steps, and down another corridor to a large gray door that needed both of them to pull it open, revealing-surprise, surprise-another corridor, but one that was somewhat cleaner this time.  And there was a group of people inside, feasting on what looked like a dead roasted dog; more specifically, it was about a dozen tiny men who reminded him a little bit of the gnomes back in Gravity Falls, except they had bright green, catlike eyes and little sets of whiskers on either side of their faces.  When they saw them standing in the doorway, several backed up around their supper, hissing and glaring suspiciously.

Ford held up his hands, trying to look as non-confrontational as possible.  “We just want to know where and when the next Floating Market is.”

The little men looked at each other and had a quick conversation in hushed, whispery voices, before finally one turned back to the brothers.  “ _ Cutty Sark _ ,” he hissed.  “Tonight.”

“Thank you.”  Ford indicated the door to Stan, and they slid back out, taking care to close it behind them.

 

“ _ Cutty Sark _ ?” Stan echoed.  “What is that, some kinda code?”

“It’s a clipper ship that was very famous in her time,” Ford told him, squinting at his map.  He let out a small sigh of relief. “Thankfully, not a place we need to cross Knightsbridge to reach.”

“Why, what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s got a reputation for taking payment…”

* * *

 

Ford explained what he’d found out about that particular area of London Below as they made their way to the Floating Market.  It was a relatively smooth journey, with just a few moments where they got disoriented or took a wrong turn, but they eventually found the right place.

The  _ Cutty Sark _ was technically still a boat, but it had been grounded and turned into a museum for years.  And right now, as they entered through a trapdoor that was probably not there on a regular basis, that museum was crowded with people of all shapes, sizes and species, hawking their wares to each other.

“Blue oysters!  Get your blue oysters here-each one with a fire of unknown origin inside!  Don’t waste your time with a Hand of Glory-get a blue oyster!”

“Guides to rare wonders of the world!  Get a map to visit Morton’s Fork, Occam’s Razor, and Jacob’s Ladder-only costs a small favor!”

“Curses!  Lovely, lovely curses!  From ‘May your eyes drop out of your head’ to flat-out ‘#$%!*^!,’ we got ‘em all!”

Stan’s eyes were big and bright as he looked around.  “This is my kinda place, Sixer.”

“They don’t use money here for the most part,” Ford reminded him dryly.  “They use a barter system.”

Stan shrugged.  “I can work with that.”

He ignored the raised eyebrow he received, and asked, “So, where do we need ta look for the dragon fire and stuff?”

“Look for any booths selling potions, or with herbs of some kind hanging from the roof.  They’ll be the most likely candidates.”

“Gotcha.”

* * *

 

They agreed to meet back up at the helm of the ship in an hour to reconnoiter, and then separated into the crowd.

As he searched, Stan also browsed the different wares in each spot, making note of things he could tell Soos about for the shack or that the kids might be interested in.

And then he saw it.

Sitting on a table, amongst a cluster of fancy-looking goblets and mismatched tea sets, there was a large black coffee mug.  And on the side of it was written the periodic table things for sulfur, argon, calcium and samarium, with “The elements of my personality” written underneath.

It was the perfect Ford mug, right under his nose.

 

Sitting behind the table was a woman who was either really tired or stoned out of her mind; either one seemed possible under the circumstances.  She was resting her chin in her hand, tapping the fingers of her other hand against the tabletop and yawning a little. When she saw Stan approaching, she said in a dull, smoky voice, “Anything with gold or jewels on it costs an arm and a leg tonight.”

Something about the matter-of-fact tone made it sound like the price was quite literal.  Stan decided not to ask for details. Instead he asked, “How much for just the mug?” pointing to it.

The woman blinked her shadowed eyes, and squinted at it, lips pursed.  Then she indicated his bag. “Wotcha got?”

Stan opened it, and let her peruse the odds and ends.

After a minute she yawned again.  “Usually for something like that, I just charge a pound of flesh, your firstborn child, or a bag of coffee.”

Stan pulled out the large bag of coffee beans he’d had the foresight to pack and offered it to her.  She took it with a satisfied smile, and gestured to the mug.

“All yours, mate.”

 

Stan grinned, and scooped up the mug, wrapping it in a few scraps of cloth in the hopes of protecting it a little before closing his bag.

He was just about to set off to find Ford, when the man himself came storming up, fuming.

“Sixer?  Did you find-”

“We need to look somewhere else,” Ford growled.

“Why, what happened?”  Stan allowed his brother to pull him away from the booth, to a less crowded part of the museum.

Ford rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses.  “I found one person who’s selling what we need, but the price he’s asking is quite unacceptable.”

“...Then why don’t we just steal it and get outta here?”

“Because, Stanley, the same policy against violence in the Floating Market also applies to theft!”

“What’s the-”

“The worst that could happen, if that’s what you’re asking, is that the Market itself would turn against us.  I don’t know exactly what that means, but it’s not something I want to have happen to us.” Ford paced back and forth, hands clenching behind his back.

“...What did he want?” Stanley asked after a moment.

Ford held up his wrist, indicating the protective watch he was wearing.  “This.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for the mug came from a conversation on Artsymeshee's tumblr. Just thought I'd mention it.


	11. Third Option

“...Figures.  It just figures.”

Stan watched his twin continue to pace back and forth, tugging at his hair until he looked a little like Einstein with glasses.  He nearly ran into a large yeti in blue jeans who skipped past, accompanied by what appeared to be a sentient gumball machine; both of them barely managed to sidestep him in time, and the gumball machine muttered something that sounded like “Excuse you, buddy!”

 

“He wouldn’t accept anything else?” Stan asked.

Ford growled irritably.  “I think he’s some kind of raven man; they like shiny things, and this is the shiniest thing I have.”  He tapped the watch with the fingers of his other hand. “And I think my reluctance to give it up just made him more eager to have it.”

“Sounds about right.”  Stan looked down at his own watch thoughtfully.  Then he asked, out of the blue, “How does it work?”

Ford paced back towards him, looking a little surprised at the question but going into lecture mode regardless.  “The symbols are made out of a combination of metals that are naturally part of the normal world, and substances that are naturally weird.  They interact with each other, and therefore create a natural shield against laws of weirdness magnetism.”

“So it’s something you really don’t want falling into the wrong hands, I take it.”

“Exactly.”

“Is it just the watch part, or does the whole thing have to be together for it to work?”  Stan was staring thoughtfully at the links that made the strap part.

“...Well, technically the center is the hub of the field and therefore the most important part, but there might be at least some residual power in- _Stanley don’t take it off!!!!_ ”

 

Too late; Stan had slipped the watch off his wrist, making sure to keep the center part clenched in his hand, and was digging in his pockets for his screwdriver.  Once he found it, he began awkwardly picking at the connecting links-until Ford grabbed his wrist and yanked it away.

“Are you _insane_?!” he demanded, voice actually going up in pitch in his agitation.  “I told you, this is the only thing-”

“We need to get the stuff!” Stan shot back.  “This is a way easier solution than sailing off somewhere else to look for it.  I’m keeping hold of the center part, see? So we just need to separate it, fix the links back together, and presto, a nice bracelet for the nice raven man.”

For the first time in a long while, Ford looked like he was sincerely contemplating fratricide.  He took a few deep breaths, though, and then dug into his pocket and pulled out a shiny piece of quartz crystal.

“We can put this in the middle instead, so he won’t get suspicious about it being smaller than before.”  Then he shot Stan a dark look. “And if you let go of that even for a second before we get back to the boat, I swear, before I forget you I will beat you within an inch of your _life_.”

“You’re welcome,” Stan said dryly.  “Now help me with this, wouldya?”

* * *

 

“Don’t you _ever_ do that to me again!” Ford ordered twenty minutes later as they left the market, liquid dragon fire and other ingredients in hand.

“What’s the big deal, Sixer?” Stan asked, massaging the little circle between his fingers.  “We made it out all right.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.  Are you trying to prove yourself or something?  Because you don’t have to, okay? I would _never_ have considered replacing you with Shanklin, I learned my lesson already.  You are all the brother I need. I’m not interested in trying to find someone ‘better.’”

Stan’s shoulders hunched a little, and he used the suddenly tricky corridor they had to navigate through as an opportunity to avoid answering for awhile.

_Might’ve known he was eavesdropping._

Eventually, though, he said, “I know, Sixer.  I know you’re tellin’ the truth, and I wanna believe you, it’s just…”  He fumbled for the right words.

Ford’s irate expression faded.  “Part of you is waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

Stan’s chin dipped in a tiny nod.

Ford indicated the next turn, and after a moment said softly, “There’s a part of me that is sometimes afraid to leave you alone with my experiments.  I know it’s not fair, I know that even the first time was an accident, but I remember seeing my dreams destroyed before my eyes, and something in me imagines it happening again.”

Stan grimaced, and sighed a little.  “We’ve screwed each other up so much.”

“But not beyond repair, I hope.  We can be reconditioned to believe in and trust each other again.”

“...Whatever, nerd.”

 

Ford tentatively held up his hand.  “...High six?”

Stan squinted at it in the dim lighting.  “Is this for figuring out how to bargain with the raven guy?”

Ford rolled his eyes.  “If you want it to be, Stanley.”

He received a toothy grin and a slapped palm.  “High six.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm rushing things a little. I'm just really, really close to the end of this story.  
> And if enough of you are interested, I have ideas for how "Shanklin" finds his Ford, and the adventures required for the two of them to get back to their own dimension.


	12. The adventures continue

Even when they made it out of the tunnels back into the night air, Ford refused to allow Stan to open the hand containing the centerpiece, telling him to wait until they were back on the boat.  He said it was just to be certain that there was no residual magnetism surrounding him, which was technically true. His reasons went a little deeper than that, however.

Being the one to erase Stan’s mind had given him a horrifying clarity into what his brother’s life had been like for the past three decades.  He had barely been able to handle the twenty minutes or so between then and Mabel’s scrapbook being able to start bringing Stan’s memory back to life; he didn’t think he could have handled it for a day, much less another thirty years.

That feeling, that he had lost his brother forever because of a mistake he himself had made, was something Ford never wanted either of them to have to go through ever again.  And he didn’t give a d_mn if that sentence was grammatically correct or choppy or anything else; it was still 100% true.

Maybe it was just paranoid of him, but he knew he wouldn’t feel safe until they were back home.

* * *

 

When they found the  _ Stan O’War II _ , Shanklin was just exiting the cabin; he waved, and made his way to the rail of the boat, leaning on it as they climbed onboard.

“You made it back!” he said, beaming at Ford.  Then he looked at Stan and tilted his head quizzically, eyebrows rising in mock confusion.  “Who’s that?”

“Very funny, smart aleck,” Stan growled at him.  He looked at Ford. “Can I let go now?”

Ford hesitated, then finally slipped his own watch off his wrist.  “Yes, it should be all right now.”

Stan opened his hand, letting the watch part slip free into his pocket.  Fortunately it was the hand he’d had to bandage; otherwise he probably would have held onto it tight enough to leave an imprint.

Shanklin stared at them with wide eyes.  “Whoa, what happened?”

“You want the long version or the short version?” Stan asked, heading for the cabin.

 

It was Ford’s turn to throw together dinner while Stan told Shanklin about their adventure, and Shanklin took the ingredients they’d acquired and blended them together into a viscous, lime green, glowing liquid.

“This’ll do the trick until I can get some more cosmic sand,” he said when he finished, proudly giving it a final shake like a bartender, and then setting it on the table.  “Need to let it settle for about an hour, and then I should be out of your hair.”

“Yeah, better go rescue your Ford before he gets his head chopped off or whatever,” Stan said, accepting a plate from his own brother and digging in.

“Actually, if I remember correctly Ronald intended to use the death of a thousand cuts,” Ford mused.

Stan stared at him with wide eyes.  “And the people were actually in favor of that?  Just how big of a tyrant were you?”

“I was not a tyrant!”  Ford was well aware of how petulant he sounded.  “I told you, I was working on reforming them into a democracy!”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Shanklin said, pretending to nod sagely.  “Tryin’ to change people’s lifestyle- _ shame _ on you, Sixer!”

Ford made a face at them as he dished out some tinned peaches for dessert.  “I was just lucky Ronald didn’t find out about my criminal record. The Finger Dimension has some very creative methods of execution.”

 

For a few minutes after that they ate quietly.

Ford asked Shanklin if he could have the third journal, and drew out a map of the dungeons and the surrounding area as best he remembered it (meaning, of course, that he included little detailed pictures of the different trees planted in the courtyard, down to the shape of their leaves and with notes about height and width), and made a list of suggestions for escape routes and a few people he could go to for help if he had no other choice.

“It’s still kinda incredible,” Stan said out loud, pointing at Ford with his fork.  “He’s just as big of a criminal as I am. Who’da thought?”

“I know, right?”  Shanklin gulped down his latest mouthful and grinned.  “He even kidnapped a princess once.”

“I did not!” Ford squawked, looking up from his notes.  “She  _ asked _ me to help her escape an undesirable arranged marriage!  I tried to make my involvement as little known as possible, but-!”

Too late; both versions of his brother were already guffawing.  He glowered at them over the tops of his glasses.

Finally Stan sat up straight, rubbing his streaming eyes.  “Sorry, I know I shouldn’t laugh at you too much...” He grinned devilishly.  “King Koopa.”

“I will hurt both of you.”

Stan looked at Shanklin.  “I call being Mario.”

“Fine by me.”

Ford finally just rolled his eyes at both of them and went back to work.

 

He was able to tune them out for a while, until he heard Shanklin say, “One time I actually got arrested when I got to a dimension Ford had just left.  But they had to let me go because they realized I wasn’t him. I didn’t have...certain distinguishing marks.”

Ford froze.   _ Oh, sweet mother of mercy, please don’t let him be about to say what he thought he was about to say. _

“They actually counted your fingers for once?” Stan asked.

“That too.”  It was Shanklin’s turn for a mischievous smile.  “But they also noticed my distinct lack of tattoos.”

Stan made a spluttering noise like he wanted to do a spit take, but couldn’t because he didn’t have a drink in his mouth.  “You got tattoos, Ford?! Is that why you always wear that dumb turtleneck?”

“I-It was a heat of the moment thing!”  Ford could feel his cheeks burning.

Stan, furthering his embarrassment, looked almost... _ proud _ of him.  But then his eyes narrowed a little.  “Please tell me you at least got good tattoos, and not something super lame.”

Shanklin leaned forward.  “Depends on if you think calling yourself an ‘All-Star’ is lame.”

More raucous laughter ensued.

 

When it finally ended, Stan managed to get out, “I guess I should be glad you didn’t get ‘E=MC2’ or a picture of an atom or something.”

“Shut up, Stanley.  Both of you.” But by now there was a resigned amusement to his tone.

* * *

 

Several amusing stories later (fortunately they became less focused on embarrassing Ford), Shanklin decided he’d better get going.  He poured the mixture into the hourglass part of his portal gun, and retrieved the clothes he’d arrived in. He tried to return the clothes they’d lent him, but both older Pineses insisted he keep them.

They sailed the boat far enough out to sea that nobody was likely to see anything unusual, and then, after checking around for the third time to make sure he hadn’t left behind anything (especially not the journals), Shanklin looked at them, shuffling awkwardly.

“Well...I guess this is goodbye.”  He swallowed. “It’s been fun.”

“Indeed.”  Ford, after a moment, stepped towards the Stanley line, offering his hand.  But then he felt a hand from behind shove him in the shoulderblade, so what he’d intended to be a semi-formal handshake turned into an extremely unexpected and somewhat stumbling hug.

 

Despite their mutual surprise and embarrassment, Shanklin actually wrapped an arm around his shoulders for a moment before they separated.

As Ford turned to protest to Stanley, his twin cut him off by saying, “He needed it, trust me.  ‘Specially ‘cause the other you isn’t gonna feel like giving him one anytime soon.”

Shanklin smiled a little, and offered his palm.  “Long distance high five?”

Stan grinned back and held his up.  “Long distance high five.”

Ford, since he was standing between them anyway, held up both his hands and allowed them to high-five him at the same time.  It created an odd tingling sensation to run through his body, making him really glad that he’d known what would happen if the same person from different dimensions touched.

 

Without further ado, Shanklin turned and pointed the gun, squeezing the trigger.  He looked a little like he wanted to say something cliche, but decided it was better to just get going.

The gun sparked, then a burst of light came out, creating a mini portal hovering in the air just above the deck.

Despite himself, Ford took a tiny step back, and felt a tiny bit relieved when Stan wrapped a hand around his shoulder.  This time, the gravity around them was unaffected; the fuel they’d created was working like a charm.

Shanklin waved one last time, and then he jumped into the portal, and was gone.

* * *

 

They stood for a long moment, just staring at the spot where moments ago the younger Stanley had been.

Whether they admitted it or not, both of them had felt a small rush of fear at being this close to a working portal again, no matter how different the circumstances had been.  It was comforting to know that both of them were still there after it was gone.

“He’ll be okay,” Stanley said at last.  “He’s got a nerd brain like you.”

Ford snorted.  “He also has your unique personality.  A dangerous but effective combination altogether.”

Stan squeezed his shoulder one more time before releasing him.  “Hope the other you’s not gonna be too annoyed that he’s not the only one who knows stuff anymore.”

“He’ll get over it.”  Maybe he was being a little too hard on his younger self, but part of Ford felt like he deserved to get a taste of humble pie once in a while.  He just hoped things could turn out as well for them as it had for him and his brother. Or maybe better, since it had taken forty years and a Weirdmageddon for them to get their acts together.

 

In the meantime, it was time to finally get rid of the Stanley line, and figure out where they were going to go now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not the best ending, I know. But hopefully it's good enough for now. Besides, I really wanna get to the next part of the "Shanklin Pines" saga.  
> Thank you for your suggestions, Yantiu and Cartoon_Idiot_59; I hope I implemented them to your satisfaction.  
> I am thinking of making a doc with some bonus chapters, if anyone's interested; they have some stuff I wanted to put in, but felt like it didn't fit with the tone of the story, you know?  
> Until then, adieu to you all.


End file.
